


Mourning

by Ta_Ma



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ta_Ma/pseuds/Ta_Ma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's reaction to Reichenbach Falls. Unbeta'd</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [El duelo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/394203) by [Ta_Ma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ta_Ma/pseuds/Ta_Ma). 



> Hi, this is my first work in english.  
> I want to ask you apologies for my writing way.  
> It's a year since Reichenbach Falls and I want to commemorate it.  
> I translated the fic I wrote a year before. "El duelo"

When he thinks that he hasn’t more tears. He thinks that he has cried enough. There’s something that reminds him Sherlock, and he isn’t able to stop it. He starts again and he can’t stop crying for hours. Is a weep without comfort because he doesn’t know how to get over this heartbreaking empty that is in his chest.  He can’t find the way to hush this pain but he is not sure if he wants to.

John would like to reduce it, he would distract himself with work like common people do, but there is no job without him. He would write on his blog, fill it with all the pain, but every time he opens the blog he sees the photo. The photo with that stupid hat. Then he looks through the posts and there’s Sherlock everywhere.  Sherlock as a pert. Sherlock as a genius. Sherlock being weary. Sherlock screaming "bored". Sherlock who always was rude to say things. Sherlock as his friend… He can’t process that he isn’t there anymore. He can’t let it be. He has no idea how to stop thinking of him, how to stop waiting for him. He can’t get the violin out of his mind.

John knows that he’s hurting himself. He stopped eating. He isn’t looking for a job. He is not writing and if he wasn’t so busy missing him, he would try to stop living. He goes to cemetery some days and then he stands in front the stone. He fixes his wet eyes on the golden characters and he asks him again. Every time he goes there, he asks him to not be dead. He asks him all to be a game. He asks him for a miracle, and he believes in Sherlock with no strings attached. John believes that Sherlock is paying attention to him. He does strongly and even painfully. John who never before has believed on an upper being able to do miracles and now he does. He can’t conceive the world in a different way. He can’t accept that Sherlock was common man. For him Sherlock was a wonderful being since the first time they met and John doesn’t know how to thank him for this.

John can’t stop thinking of the first night, when he saved Sherlock’s life. He can’t forget Sherlock’s look when he discovered it and insisted to hide it to police. He would save his life a thousand times if he could. He repeats the pattern in his mind, Sherlock jumping from this roof, and every time he runs to brake the fall. Sometimes he saves him, and sometimes he doesn’t. When he can’t do it, he awakes crying, screaming his name, then he sits on the bed and waits. He would pay any price to hear the violin at five o’clock on the morning.

He has been doing this for almost a month, he hasn’t gone to the therapist, she can’t help him. He has gone back to the flat just to see Sherlock stuff and leave again. He prefers stay at the motel although he can’t pay it. He would call Mycroft if seeing his name on the phone wasn't so painfully. Mycroft is gone too, but that does not concern him at all. 

There’s a voice inside John’s mind, it’s starting to speak and it sounds suspiciously like Sherlock’s. John thinks that he’s going to become mad. The voice has appeared after visit 221B of Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson has tried to feed him, has tried talk about something else. She told him not to worry about the rental.

When he has said goodbye and has left Baker Street, he’s started to hear it “she is worried about you, John”. He doesn’t know how to stop hearing the voice, but it accompanies him. “Harry could take care of you, John” then he’s started to answer it “Harry is already busy with drinking, Sherlock”. “You have to eat, John” and John eats, not much, just cookies but it’s better than nothing.  “I don’t like seeing you like this, John” “I don’t like not seeing you anyway, Sherlock!”

Molly and Lestrade have tried to talk to him, John would answer the phone but he’s convinced that he has lost his mind and he doesn’t want to be locked up in an asylum.

It’s past a month since Sherlock’s death and media’s have forgotten him and Moriarty. John would hit all of them, he would break all the fucking cameras, and he would scream that Sherlock Holmes never was a fraud, but he’s tired and his feet bring him to Bart’s without asking. John stays near the point where he fell, he can see the blood, the people and him, lying on the floor with his head open. He can see how they take him and John is falling again. 

John thinks that he’s in a loop, because he’s going to the motel crying, crying like a child who’s lost and who can’t find the right way. He thinks that he has given the right address to the cabby, but when the car stops he’s in Baker Street. He goes into the flat too tired to try something else. John walks sleepwalker to Sherlock’s bedroom and lies on his bed because he needs it. He cries for hours and falls asleep.

John doesn’t know if he’s dreamed it, but he would swear that he heard the violin last night. He has the song in his mind but he doesn’t know it, he thinks that he heard it meanwhile he was crying. When he goes to the living room he sees it, the violin upon Sherlock chair, it wasn’t there when he arrived last night. John doesn’t know if he’s finally losing his mind, but there’s warm tea on the kitchen table and Mrs. Hudson isn’t awake yet. Maybe Sherlock has made the miracle.

 


End file.
